


Birdman

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Birdman and Buckaroo [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Avengers - Freeform, Hawkeye - Freeform, Hawkeye!Clint/Modern Bucky Barnes, M/M, Snark, Speed Dating, meet cute, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Bucky is suffering through another horrible matchmaking attempt by his family when an Avenger crashes the party.





	Birdman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



> NOW EDITED by the amazing Ro!!
> 
> Wanted to do a little Winterhawk thing because I missed the update for Nobody Lost, Nobody Found this week.

 

Bucky was decently confident there was a statute in New York that made murdering his sister justifiable homicide. If there wasn’t, there needed to be. Really, really needed to be.

 

It had started with his mother - who was  _ so _ proud of her only son and all that he had achieved, and loved to gush about him to all of her friends and their distant family, and even, on a few notable an uniquely painful occasions, to strangers in the grocery store when he had been standing  _ right there _ . 

 

_ Oh, this is my son, James. He’s a professor at Columbia University. And only twenty-seven! Youngest professor in his department. And he just won an NIH grant, and he’s mapping neural circuit dynamics for working memory in humans. So bright. Top of his class at Princeton. Top of his class at Harvard. He met the president - the good one, not the cheeto. So talented, my James. _

 

She had the gall to do  _ that _ to him in public, but in private, Bucky’s mother constantly bemoaned his utter failure to have the one thing that she had decided would make him happy: a relationship.

 

Going back to  _ high school _ , when Bucky had first come out to his parents, his mother had taken it upon herself to try to find him a boyfriend, convinced that he not only needed someone else in his life, but that he was incapable of finding that someone himself.

 

For thirteen years, he had been suffering through blind dates and awkward family dinners with unexpected guests and- 

 

And Becca, the hetero traitor, thought it was free entertainment to watch her older brother suffer.

 

_ Watch _ him suffer.

 

Until now. 

 

Until their mother’s latest crusade had resulted in Bucky actually going on three dates with their aunt’s rabbi’s cousin before it fizzled out - well, before Bucky had to cancel five dates in a row because of work.

 

After that, and after their mother’s tearful speech at the family dinner last month about how she was  _ never _ going to have grandchildren - Becca announced often that she was never, ever suffering through motherhood  _ ever _ \- Becca, the worst sister of all time, had announced that  _ she _ would help Bucky find a boyfriend.

 

Which was how Bucky found himself sitting at a stupid cafe table in a stupid restaurant with a stupid vase with stupid fake flowers on the table in front of him and a complete stranger named  _ Matty _ sitting across from him.

 

Speed dating.

 

_ Speed dating. _

 

It was- it was not only painful to think about, but the reality turned out to be ten times  _ more _ painful.

 

Bucky was going to cheerfully murder his sister, even if he wasn’t able to plead justifiable homicide.

 

The only saving grace of this whole evening was that the “dates” lasted seven minutes before they rotated tables and Bucky had to meet yet another man who would  _ never _ be his boyfriend.

 

While Matty was at least handsome, it was clear that he expended most of his brain function on maintaining his gym physique and calculating protein shake combinations. They had discovered exactly one topic of conversation after Bucky told the man the only workout he did was swimming four times a week. Matty had latched onto it like a lifeline, asking Bucky about his times, his stretching, his post-swim cooldown, his pre and post workout meals and- 

 

Honestly, Bucky was ready to hire the man as a personal trainer at the end of the seven minutes. But  _ date _ him? No. Never.

 

When the buzzer - an actual  _ buzzer _ \- sounded, both Matty and Bucky stood up and shook hands. The polite smile on Matty’s face made it clear the feeling was mutual.

 

“Good luck,” Bucky told him.

 

Matty nodded.

 

“Same to you - and don’t forget to start eating more carbs before you swim! I promise you’re gonna drop thirty seconds off your time after like a week.”

 

With that sage advice, they parted ways forever, and Bucky sat back down with a sigh.

 

His new date was Alex, who took one look at Bucky and grinned.

 

“Why don’t we skip all this chatting and just go get to know each other out back?”

 

Bucky stared at him.

 

Alex’s smug expression didn’t waver. He actually quirked an eyebrow suggestively.

 

Bucky allowed his stare to become the chilly glare he reserved for undergraduate research assistants who accidentally deleted that day’s data.

 

Alex’s expression wavered and then sank.

 

“So that’s a no?”

 

“That’s a hell no,” Bucky assured him.

 

“Oh. You sure?”

 

“Positive.”

 

Alex remained sullen and silent for the rest of their seven minutes.

 

Which was fine with Bucky. He pulled this month’s moleskine notebook out of his pocket - cell phones apparently weren’t  _ allowed _ \- and started to make notes for the presentation he was giving at a conference in Zurich in six weeks.

 

He didn’t know, and really didn’t care, what Alex planned on doing. But they clearly had nothing to say to each other.

 

When the buzzer thankfully announced the end of  _ that _ date, Bucky didn’t bother to stand up or shake Alex’s hand.

 

He did look up, however, when Alex was bumped into by another man.

 

Tall, broad-shouldered, blond-haired and blue-eyed, and dressed in a tight black t-shirt and black cargo pants, the man didn’t look like  _ any _ of the other speed dating victims.

 

He sat down across from Bucky and hastily slapped a nametag across his broad chest.

 

_ Alex _ .

 

The same name, and the same handwriting, as the asshole Bucky had just suffered through.

 

Bucky arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“You’re not Alex. You’re also not my next date,” Bucky gestured to Nick, standing beside the fake Alex and looking confused.

 

“Yeah, I know, just- Change of plans, buddy.” Not-Alex pulled a crumple wad of money from his pocket and shoved it into Nick’s hands. “Sit this one out, okay?”

 

Nick accepted the money with a shrug and walked away, leaving Bucky with Not-Alex.

 

Not-Alex, who wasn’t paying Bucky any attention, but was instead looking past Bucky and towards the front of the restaurant, out of the windows.

 

Bucky started to turn to see what he was looking at, but Not-Alex grabbed his hand and stopped him.

 

“Don’t look, it’ll only draw attention to us.”

 

Not-Alex had a strong grip, but he wasn’t pressing his fingers into Bucky’s wrist. Just… holding him in place.

 

“Whose attention are we trying to avoid?” Bucky asked, staring down at Not-Alex’s hand and taking note of the callouses. They were an interesting pattern, definitely not from just manual labor or working out.

 

“Hydra’s.”

 

_ That _ got Bucky’s attention.

 

He snapped his gaze up to Not-Alex’s face, and saw that the man was giving him a soft, apologetic smile.

 

“Who are you?” he had to ask. 

 

“I’m an Avenger,” Not-Alex said, voice a little huffy, as if he had expected to be recognized.

 

The guy didn’t look like an Avenger - definitely not Captain America, or the retired Captain America, or Iron Man or the Hulk or Thor or Vision or the Black Widow or the Scarlet Witch.

 

Bucky frowned. 

 

“Are you… Birdman? Hawkguy?”

 

“Hawk _ eye _ . Hawkeye. It’s not that hard to- Whatever. Yeah. Yeah. I’m Hawkeye, and I just needed to duck in here to lose my pursuit for a few minutes.”

 

“So why is Hydra pursuing you?”

 

Not-Alex - Hawkeye - gave Bucky a lopsided grin that was full of trouble, and that transformed his face from bland good looks to  _ holy fuck hot _ .

 

“Because we’re playing an exciting game of cops and robbers. Well, fascists and robbers. And I’m winning. Hopefully.”

 

“What did you steal from them?”

 

Impossibly, the lopsided grin grew in both size and hotness, and the man’s blue eyes actually  _ twinkled _ with mischief.

 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” His eyes flicked over Bucky. “And that would be a damn shame.”

 

Bucky felt himself blush. Actually  _ blush _ , as if he was fucking fourteen and stuttering through a conversation with the varsity quarterback. Again.

 

He forced himself to act cool.

 

“So, Hawkeye, think the Yankees will win the pennant?”

 

Hawkeye laughed, a loud, shocked bark of amusement that had Bucky grinning back in response.

 

“God, I hope not. I’ve got fifty bucks riding on the A’s, and I cannot lose the betting pool  _ again _ . If I do, Nat’s gonna make me dye my hair red to match hers, and trust me - that is not a sight anyone needs to be tortured with.”

 

Bucky looked over Hawkeye’s face and up to his dark blond hair.

 

“I dunno. I’ve always had a thing for gingers.”

 

Hawkeye arched one eyebrow.

 

“Oh, yeah? I’ve always had a thing for brunets who scribble in notebooks about-” he twisted his head to get a better view at Bucky’s notes -“brain trauma and artificial neural pathway reconstruction.”

 

Bucky snorted.

 

“Do you even know what that means?”

 

“Sure. It means you’re a fucking genius.”

 

And Bucky was blushing again, because Hawkeye was smirking again, and he looked… so sincerely impressed by the string of words he didn’t recognize.

 

The buzzer sounded.

 

_ What the fuck? _

 

No way had it already been seven minutes.

 

Around them, men started to stand.

 

Hawkeye did as well, eyes flicking away from Bucky’s face to the windows.

 

Right.

 

Hydra.

 

Bucky sighed and stood up.

 

“Thanks for this,” Hawkeye said, and held out a hand. “And good luck with the rest of your dates.”

 

Bucky shook his hand and couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

 

“You too, Birdman.”

 

Hawkeye squeezed his hand, a gentle little press of his strong, calloused hand over Bucky’s.

 

“It was nice to meet you, Bucky. I’ll see you around?”

 

It was Bucky’s turn to smirk.

 

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll look for you on the news.”

 

-o-

 

A month later, Bucky was deep in midterm grading, trying to juggle his teaching responsibilities with his research, and trying his damnedest to avoid both his sister and his mother’s attempts to set him up, and - the damn traitor - his  _ father _ had even suggested Bucky go out with his colleague’s sister’s best friend’s brother.

 

Bucky was wondering if he could just… declare himself a celibate monk and escape all of the hopeless matchmaking.

 

Because, really, if it had been difficult to find himself inspired to date  _ before _ , having his speed date nightmare crashed by Hawkeye had made it impossible for Bucky to be at all impressed with any of the eight blind dates he had gone on since then.

 

So, he was ready to resign himself to celibate monk status when, in mid-October, he walked back to his office after a particularly exhausting class and saw a red-haired man in a purple sweater and fitted jeans leaning against the wall beside his office door.

 

Bucky didn’t know him, but there was something about his broad shoulders that seemed familiar maybe.

 

And then the guy looked up and grinned at Bucky.

 

“Birdman.”

 

Hawkeye rolled his eyes, but his grin turned into that sexy lopsided thing, and Bucky had to grin back.

 

“My name is actually Clint.”

 

Bucky knew. Because he had sort of - okay, had one hundred percent - been stalking the guy on the internet ever since their run-in.

 

“Sorry about the As,” Bucky said, taking in Clint’s hair color.

 

Clint grimaced.

 

“No, you aren’t, you lying Yankees fan.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

Clint ran a hand through his red hair.

 

It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but definitely not as attractive as his normal hair.

 

“How long will it be like that?”

 

“Until  _ January _ ,” Clint sighed dramatically. “I have to spend the rest of the damn year like this.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Clint arched an eyebrow.

 

“Think that’ll be enough time for you to work through all your ginger fantasies?”

 

Bucky had to laugh, but the expression died when he noticed that Clint wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even really smirking anymore. 

 

Instead, he was staring at Bucky with heat in his eyes and a slight quirk to his lips that was  _ definitely _ an open invitation.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and had to clear his throat. “Yeah, I think that’ll be enough time. Then we can work our way through all my Birdman fantasies.”

 

“Hawkeye, Christ, it’s a good thing you’re a fucking genius.”

 

“You gonna kiss me, or just compliment me?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes, but he straightened up from his slouch against the wall and closed the space between them.

 

His kiss felt like the memory of his hand on Bucky’s - firm, rough and smooth, hot and confident, and just this side of playful.

 

It was perfect.

 

-o-

  
  



End file.
